


Confession

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Don't confess your love on a battlefield, F/M, Gen, I mean they are Mandalorians, Mild Gore, its just impractical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: Bo-Katan picks a heck of a time to drop an emotional bomb.





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt list of "Ways I said I Love You: 31. In awe, the first time you realized it".

Bo-Katan’s head is *pounding* - fek, but being thrown into a boulder at velocity is not something she enjoys about fighting other Mandos, least of all these ragged yet determined fools clinging to Zanbar’s last moon. She’d at least managed to kill the bastard, easily dodging most of the blows from the Mando’s jury-rigged sword. 

She tries to assess the damage from her sensor data, but her buy'ce's firmware is fritzed from the impact, the HUD cluttering her visor with errors and faulty intel. It’s more of a handicap than protection now, so she wrenches it off and throws it aside - she can retrieve and tinker with it later, right now she has to find out how the fek she’s going to marshal the NiteOwls with only her two-channel wrist comm and no multi-channel.

Suddenly something - or some-one- explodes behind her, and Bo’s thrown clear off her feet, and lands on her back with enough force that the jetpack snaps off her backplate, and her pistols are knocked out of her hands. She barely manages to pull herself to her knees when she hears the roar of descending jet packs, and looks upward.

On her knees, voiceless, disarmed, and now flightless, Bo’s apparently a most tempting target for a trio of circling vulture sorts, now diving down towards her. Bo’ staggers to her feet, attempting to assumes her usual combat stance; powers up her bracer shield and engages the vibroblades from the other wrist, and steels herself to go down fighting -

\- when suddenly the middle man bursts into flames, plunging earthwards in a fireball before he can so much as scream. Bo has to throw herself flat to the ground again as Pre Vizsla thunders seemingly out of nowhere, jets blazing, sabre drawn to neatly behead the soldier on his right as he seizes the other one-handed by the collar of his flight suit.

Bo-Katan watches, bleary-eyed but frankly in awe as Pre cuts his jets, slamming into the ground at speed and letting the enemy Mando take the impact on his back. The soldier’s a persistent bugger though, and manages to throw Pre off him. He staggers to his feet, deploying a pair of small but fearsome energy blades from his gauntlets and lunging at his opponent. Pre is matchless, however. He easily ducks and blocks the soldier’s clumsy strikes in a whirlwind of black-and-blue armour and black-and-white sabre, and with a kick sends the man sprawling onto his back before neatly plunging the sabre into his chest.

*Pre, you gorgeous verda you*, a normally quiet part of her mind says, as he dumps the corpse and jogs over to where Bo’ lays prone.

“How’d you find me so fast?” she asks, as he helps her - surprisingly gently - to her feet.

“Your helmet signal went dead. I just flew to your last broadcasted position. Are you hurt bad?” he answers in his direct way, but somehow the helmet’s speaker can’t hide the note of…concern?

“Don’t know,” she pants, before touching her side and feels wetness. She looks down and sees a massive rip in her suit, blood-slick skin beneath, and a dark stain quickly spreading from it across and downwards.

“But that…might be a problem,” she mutters, suddenly feeling very lightheaded and her legs becoming about as supportive as wet pasteboard. She swoons, right into Pre’s arms.

“Fierfek,” Pre hisses, clamping his hand over the wound and signalling with the other to two nearby Death Watch commandos.

“Barca, Jaska! Cover us - I'm taking her back to the Gauntlet's hold before she bleeds out - Hack and Chop can take it from there,” Pre barks, “Comm the long-range fighters at home, get ‘em in the air if they’re not already - and tell them strafe these hutuuns to hell and back!”

A twin chorus of “yessir"s answers the order, and Pre shifts Bo into a two-armed carry. Her head lolls backwards, and her drooping eyes flicker open for a moment. 

For all that she’s exhausted and minus most of her usual compliment of blood, Bo’s mind seems well able to work where her body cannot. It informs her that she’s in a similar position to the heroines of many a fairytale read in her childhood, gazing up at the face of her noble rescuer. Bo’ knows Pre is no fairytale hero - she has seen him behead cowards, and shoot men in the face for failing their missions - and she is in fact looking into the expressionless mask of his T-visor and not his face.

Yet he ran to her rescue without question, and is now risking his own life to rush her to safety rather than leave her for dead. The other part of Bo’s mind that still functions now makes her do something really, really stupid.

“Pre, I love you,” she sighs, bringing her hand up to caress the side of Pre’s visor as though it was his actual face. Pre makes a frustrated noise and tosses his head to dislodge her hand.

“I really hope its’ not the blood loss making you say that,” Pre mutters, before taking off towards the safety of the flagship.


End file.
